“It was a very pretty piece of work,” said Mr. Temple. “But wait till you hear the end of the story.”
“Father,” inquired Edward, “whereabouts in Boston was the mill-pond on which Ben built his wharf?”
“I do not exactly know,” answered Mr. Temple; “but I suppose it to have been on the northern verge of the town, in the vicinity of what are now called Merrimack and Charlestown Streets. That thronged portion of the city was once a marsh. Some of it, in fact, was covered with water.”
CHAPTER VIII.
As the children had no more questions to ask, Mr. Temple proceeded to relate what consequences ensued from the building of Bell Franklin’s wharf.
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.
[CONTINUED]
In the morning, when the early sunbeams were gleaming on the steeples and roofs of the town and gilding the water that surrounded it, the masons came, rubbing their eyes, to begin their work at the foundation of the new house. But, on reaching the spot, they rubbed their eyes so much the harder. What had become of their heap of stones?
“Why, Sam,” said one to another, in great perplexity, “here’s been some witchcraft at work while we were asleep. The stones must have flown away through the air!”